Happy Birthday, Baby: Part One
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: 1861, Exploring the duty of heir production from inside the young marriage of a vivacious Lady Violet and a husband frightened by intimacy. There are NO SPOILERS. Adult situations, but not quite 'M'.
1. A Gift Offered

**_AN/ This story is a joint venture with Chelsie Fan. I wrote and will be posting 'Part One' and she wrote and will be posting 'Part Two' just after. It is the result of a very long PM conversation about Violet's role as a mostly absent mother (which was all she was allowed to be by the strictures of the time, really) and the nature of her relationship with her Lord Grantham (whom we have named). We hope you enjoy it.  
><em>**

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**_The short version of our kernel of an idea… _**

**Violet Crawley saw her children one hour a day; every day. On their birthdays she visited with them for two hours. On her birthday, she saw them not at all. To produce those children, she lay with her husband five minutes at night; most every night. On his birthday, they made love.**

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><p><em>And now...The long version…<em>

A lone man in his late twenties sat at a large table in the Downton Abbey dining room, his meager breakfast was before him. He never ate much at breakfast, usually sticking to toast and coffee. He was a tall man when he was standing. His perfectly parted hair and waxed mustache were chestnut brown and his eyes a rich hazel.

The date at the top of the paper looked familiar; Thursday, August 15th, 1861. _Why was that significant? Did August have an Ides?_ He supposed it must; every month did after all. March just got all the publicity. Still, he could not shake the feeling that there was something peculiar about this day.

"Happy Birthday, Mister Marion."

"Thank you, Sumner." Oh, right. Now he remembered. It was his birthday. It didn't matter which one. He wasn't old, but he wasn't young. He'd been called by his middle name for as long as he could remember. He was still just Mister Marion, not yet Lord Grantham. He was an heir apparent, apparently. _Ha, that joke never gets old._ It always made Vi smile, at least, and that was good enough in his book.

The absence of anyone else at the table told him that his father was still feeling ill. This was the third day in a row. It was just a small cold, but such illnesses seemed to linger longer now as his father grew older and frailer.

"Lady Violet sent this for you," the placid butler held out a silver tray containing a letter and letter opener.

He set his paper aside and sighed as he opened the letter. He deposited the letter opener back on the tray without another word. The butler melted conveniently back into the furnishings.

_Happy birthday, dearest husband,_

_This is our first year celebrating your birthday together and I want it to be special. I did so love the sapphire earrings you gave me for my 19__th__ birthday and I've gotten something special for you. Would you please meet me in my rooms this afternoon for tea?_

_Vi_

Why did he have to wait for the afternoon?

"Is Lady Violet awake?" Maybe he would pay her an unexpected visit.

"Yes, sir."

"And is she in her rooms?"

"No, sir. I believe she left the house an half hour ago. She said she might take luncheon in the village and we weren't to wait for her."

What the devil was that woman up to? The only things open this early were the post office and the train station. _Oh, no_, he thought, _she's finally invited that awful sister of hers to visit._

"Did she walk or take the carriage?"

"She walked, sir. She said the carriage wasn't necessary."

He breathed with relief. She wasn't picking up anyone at the station then. Marion still didn't understand his young bride. She fascinated him with her mixture of demure propriety and almost devilish wit, but he didn't understand her.

Vi still wasn't back by luncheon. Marion ate a quiet meal with his mother and wondered what his enigmatic wife had in store for him come tea time. There was no mention of his birthday from his mother, but she did smile at him and pat his hand when she passed him, which did not happen every day. Their family did not observe birthdays. His father didn't believe in celebrating such sentimentality as birthdays. His father barely tolerated Christmas.

-00-

He knocked on the door to her room. He always knocked; whether he was coming from the main hallway or from the more private door that led to his own rooms.

"Come." Her voice sounded far away.

He was surprised that she was not in her room when he entered.

"Vi?"

There was no answer. That was when he saw the cart with a tiny cake with a candle burning. He hadn't had a birthday cake since Nanny left when he was seven years old.

Marion approached the cart and saw the note. _'Make a wish.'_

There was no signature, but none was needed. He recognized the flourishes as hers and no one else's. Feeling foolish, he closed his eyes, made a wish and blew. He wished that he could show her how very much he loved her and how much he desired her.

It was a hopeless wish; it wasn't proper to treat a dignified and honorable woman like Violet Crawley as an object of desire. She wasn't like the woman for hire his father had taken him to the Season after he turned fifteen. Vi was his wife. Hopefully, she would someday be the mother of his children. She would be a countess. She was due respect. She was not to be tainted by such base things as lust.

He'd given into lust on their wedding night. He'd forgotten himself and had kissed her as they lay together. It had felt wonderful, but then she had cried out in pain and there had been blood; not much, but enough to make him wary of getting carried away ever again.

Why was he having these thoughts? Just because they were in her bedroom in the middle of the afternoon didn't mean…

"You can open your eyes, dear."

If she'd given him a hundred wishes, he would never have dared to wish for what stood before him. His beautiful young wife was in the doorway of her bathroom wearing absolutely nothing but her nightgown and a robe. The night gown was of virginal white. The high collar was made of intricate lace that was practically see through. The robe was sheer and sleeveless but the long sleeves of the gown were shiny like satin, inviting him to touch her. Her perfect toes poked teasingly from beneath the hem of the night gown. The belt of the robe was tied high up on her waist, immediately below her bosom, accentuating those assets.

He had never seen her in such a state of undress. For God's sake, he could see her toes! He was not surprised to see that they were perfect toes.

It was indecent, he knew, but he stared openly at her. Oh, how amazing she looked. In their dutiful pursuit of producing an heir, Marion visited her bed briefly every night, except for five or six days each month when nature informed them that they had failed once again. Sometimes he could hear her crying through the door to his rooms. In those moments he wanted to comfort her. He wanted to hold her and tell her the failure was his, but he had not been invited and a gentleman never visited a lady's room uninvited. Even if that lady was his wife.

Seeing her now, he felt a surge of lust followed by shame. It was not right to think of her like that.

"Do you like it?" She looked unsure and frightened by his silence.

"It's lovely, Vi." He stammered. "You're lovely."

This seemed to give her confidence and make her bold.

"I thought a man should feel like a man on his birthday."

Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

"Now?"

"You can stay the whole afternoon if you like, or longer. They aren't expecting us for dinner. We can do whatever you like for as long as you like."

"Would you like some tea?" Was his answer. He could have kicked himself, but this was all very new to him. He sat down in one of the chairs beside the cart and began to pour.

She huffed in apparent exasperation, but joined him. "Would you like some cake?" She asked.

"That would be lovely," he answered. _God, man! Stop saying lovely!_ He chastised himself. "There doesn't seem to be any plates or forks."

"We don't need them." Like something from a dream, his wife dipped two fingers into the cake and picked up a small bite. She pressed the sweet morsel against his lips briefly before he had the presence of mind to open his mouth. Her fingers slipped over his lips and into his mouth. Instinctively, he sucked the cake from her fingers and swallowed. Her fingers lingered until she drew them out slowly, tickling his lips wetly as she did so.

"Would you like some more?" Her tone was low and smoky. He was so transfixed by her that he couldn't move. She smiled that devilish smile of hers and reached for more cake. This time he opened his mouth at once and leaned in, but she changed her mind and ate that bite herself. The way she savored the cake and licked her fingers caused him to emit a small mewling noise. His mouth was slack and open.

Taking pity on him, she fed him again. She was looking fervently into his eyes but the sensations were so delicious, he closed his eyes to focus on her touch.

"What did you wish for?"

"I can't tell you," he answered hoarsely. Her fingers were still on his lips. "Or it won't come true."

"If you don't tell me, I can't _make_ it come true," she teased. Her fingers were on his neck now, resting on his high collar. "I want to make you feel wonderful, my dear."

"Is this my birthday present?"

She nodded. "Don't you want to unwrap me?"

"You mean…" They had never been absolutely naked in each other's company. They'd only exposed the parts they needed in order to copulate and only under the cover of her bed sheets. Anything more was excessive and improper.

He couldn't believe this was happening. In his mind, his wife was a chaste and delicate flower. This woman was a wanton and voluptuous animal. Could his Vi be both?

The prostitute his father had hired to teach him the basics of sex had let Marion see her fully, had shown him how to touch her, but he hadn't wanted to. That woman had been unclean. Now, all the things that had seemed disgusting when that dirty whore had offered sprang to his mind. Suddenly, he wanted to try something new. They wouldn't be disgusting with his wife, they couldn't be; Vi was clean and pure. It was a conundrum. He wanted to explore the world of licentious carnal behavior with his angel of a wife but his acts of depravity would corrupt her. What was a man to do?

"Don't you want…?" She looked hurt and confused.

"Would you excuse me?" Marion all but ran to his dressing room.

TBC…

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><p><strong>AN Intrigued, confused, bored? Let me know...**

****Cover Image props to slippingandsliding tumblr****


	2. A Gift Unwrapped

**AN/ Thank you all for the encouraging response! I didn't make it clear that Part One (from Marion's perspective by yours truly) would consist of 4 chapters and Part Two (from Violet's perspective written by Chelsie Fan) will have multiple chapters as well. Sorry for any confusion.**

**This chapter leans towards the M scale. Only Marion Crawley would consider it risque. I'm dubbing this genre 'ironic erotica' or 'irontica'. ****Consider yourself warned.**

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><p><em>"Would you excuse me?" Marion all but ran to his dressing room...<em>

In his room, Marion hyperventilated slightly as he considered what she was offering. He didn't need to consider for long. As fast as he could, he stripped down and jumped into his night clothes. His clothes from the morning were strewn about the room but he did not care. _Let Haney sort the mess later,_ he thought.

He knocked at the door; _her_ door.

"Yes?" She was still sitting where he'd left her looking more than a little stunned. Her eyes looked watery, as though tears threatened to fall, but his Vi was too strong for that. He did not return to her, but walked to the windows. He drew the curtains one by one to darken the room. She watched him warily as he did so.

"Shall we?" He motioned towards the bed in the muted light. Now they were on equal footing, each dressed for bed. In the darkness, Marion felt less awkward than before. Their routine was that he would join her after she'd climbed into bed. He would enter her room primed and ready, do his business and leave to sleep contentedly in his own bed. The whole process usually took less than four minutes, but this afternoon would not follow that template. This was not going to be routine. He wondered if it might take as long as ten minutes.

He was surprised when she moved to his side of the bed. He was shocked when she reached out to untie his robe sash. He was flabbergasted when she pushed the robe off of his shoulders and removed it from him. By the time she smiled up at him, he was trembling with excitement.

Now he stood only in his nightshirt which reached to his shins. Vi stood before him expectantly. All of his concentration was focused on controlling his desire. It took him a moment to realize what she wanted from him.

"Shall I unwrap my gift?" He offered shakily.

Her smile was devilishly angelic as she nodded. He reached out towards her. The back of his hand brushed the underside of her breast as he untied the sash. They both inhaled sharply at the touch. She turned her back to him and he removed the flimsy robe. Her rich, auburn hair was braided loosely and it smelled crisp, clean and freshly washed.

She turned down the bed sheet and crawled to her side of the bed. He was hypnotized by the way her bottom moved under the thin material that clung to it suggestively. His pulse quickened at the tantalizing sight. Vi slid under the covers and pulled them up to reach her chin. He saw the shape of her beneath the light summer comforter. Her outline showed clearly. He saw the shape of her two long legs. He knew them to be firm and strong. She was moving beneath the comforter. He realized she was pulling up the hem of the night dress to give him access to her sex as was their usual method. Tantalizing lingerie or not, this was just another duty for her he realized with shattering disappointment.

But she didn't stop raising the hem at her hips as he expected. She kept pulling and soon, to his thrilled horror, she pulled the nightgown over her head and dropped it silently to the floor.

She was naked! His Vi was naked beneath those sheets! All he had to do was pull them back and he would see…

"Vi! What are you doing?"

"It's your birthday, dear." She said in a calm and reasonable voice as if that would excuse anything.

Yes. It bloody well was his birthday, he told himself. His wife was offering him an opportunity to experience something unique. Who was he to reject such a precious gift?

To his wife's and his own great surprise, Marion Crawley began to unbutton his night shirt, starting with the top button. When it was open to the middle of his chest he slipped into bed and pulled the shirt over his head.

He was naked. In bed. With his wife.

The reality sunk in slowly. It felt right, but his mind screamed all the reasons it was wrong. Pushing those voices aside, he rolled onto his side to face her. Usually, the room was completely dark, but there was a dusky feel cast around the drawn curtains. Usually, he would just climb on top of her, but he was not ready mentally or physically to enter her.

"Would you like to touch me?" She asked in a voice that was both demure and alluring at once.

"Very much." He brought his hand up beneath the sheet and touched the soft skin of her belly. He imagined that it must be as white as marble, but unlike that cold stone, she was warm. His whole body tingled as he ran his hand up her torso to the underside of her breast. She shifted, pressing her breast fully into his hand. His thumb brushed over something that hardened as he caressed it repeatedly. He knew the word for this delicate piece of her anatomy, but could not think of it at the moment. All he could think of was how much he wished to suckle it, much as he had her fingers earlier.

Marion closed his eyes and ducked his head beneath the sheet. He heard Vi's groan as he latched onto her. He assumed she was disgusted by his behavior, but he could not stop. Her hand gripped the back of his head as he tickled, sucked and tasted both of her young, firm breasts. Still, he kept his eyes closed. He would at least let her retain that much dignity. He might cross the line of propriety today, but he wouldn't obliterate it. After today, he knew they must return to the normal routine.

Meanwhile, his hands were exploring her. If this was to be his only opportunity, he would be sure to touch every inch of her. One hand cupped one of her buttocks. He'd gripped her here before, but always with the fabric of her nightdress between them. Now, his fingers dug directly into her flesh, fingernails finding purchase in her velvety skin.

The sounds that she was making almost made him believe she was enjoying this as much as he was. He knew it couldn't be true, but he wanted to believe. Just for today; his birthday.

With this bold thought, he decided he was going to kiss his wife. On the mouth. While they were both naked.

He opened his eyes as his head emerged from beneath the blanket. When he kissed her, her lips opened as he felt her legs open beneath him. There was a warm wetness _there_. He'd never felt anything like it. No, she'd been wet on their wedding night. Fear gripped him, was she bleeding again? He touched the wetness and she purred and squirmed with, _was that delight?_ He looked at his fingers and was relieved to find no blood.

Still, her response to his touch had intrigued him. He repeated the gesture, more slowly this time. She pushed her head back into her pillow and her chest up against him. "Mmm. Yes." She uttered. Her words shocked him. They apparently shocked her, for she quickly clamped her lips into a hard line. Still, she could not stifle her humming sounds.

Marion was confused. He'd touched her there a hundred times. It was a necessary part of entering her, but it had never been this wet and she had never responded like this. Vi really was quite a good actress he concluded.

The thought of entering her while she was like this was very exciting to him. He knew he was almost ready to enter her and deposit his seed. He was about to test his readiness when her delicate fingers closed around him. His eyes grew wide with wonder and he jerked away from her, but she did not let go. The sensation was exquisite. It felt like being inside her, but she had more control, which frightened and titillated him. He pulled away again. Again, she did not release him. If anything, she gripped him tighter and…_pulled?_

Marion thought he must be going mad. He was so close to exploding. He needed to be inside her. With a sudden urgency, he pressed open her wetness and plunged in. It was over in three or four quick movements as per usual, but something was different this time. Her legs were clasped behind him and she was smiling. His hips still moved of their own volition. He emptied every last drop of himself into her and finally shuddered to a stop. Exhausted, his head fell to the pillow beside her. He began to push off of her, but Vi ran her fingers through his hair and whispered one delicious word, "Stay."

He obeyed. He stayed exactly where he was, laying between her welcoming thighs. He felt her body changing around him. He felt his body changing inside her. He was so sleepy. Her arms enveloped him. As her subtle convulsions subsided, she relaxed her legs and he slipped out of her. He lay his head upon her breast and closed his eyes. This was the sleep of fatigued fulfillment.

It was his birthday and Marion Crawley had finally made love to his wife. Her seduction of him had been the greatest gift he could ever receive.

He awoke beside her the next morning. They were no longer entangled. It was no longer his birthday. The magic moment had passed. She was wearing her long nightgown, but he was still naked. He did not need to look down to know that he had his usual morning problem. He decided in an instant that he would not be coming into his chamber pot this morning. They did not have much time before Vi would be expected to ring Jennings for her breakfast tray. He rolled towards Vi. He was sure she understood; no reason to waste a chance to breed. She dutifully pulled the hem of her nightgown to her hips. He performed his husbandly act efficiently and rolled away without a word. He slipped into his robe as he stood. He retrieved his nightshirt and exited her bedroom without looking back at her once.

He knew that if he looked at her, she would see the decadent lust in his eyes. He did not want to hurt her or disrespect her with his baseness.

-00-

Marion Crawley sat down before a full plate of eggs and ham steak. The paper lay neglected to the side as he ate ravenously.

"Have they not been feeding you while I was ill?" Lord Grantham drolled.

"They've been taking very good care of me, father. It is good to see you feeling well again." Marion remembered his manners and ate more slowly.

Lord Grantham looked at his son over the top of his paper. Something had changed in the lad, but he couldn't name it. Shrugging, the master of the house thought no more of it. One would go mad if one endeavored to understand the exuberance of youth.

The next time Marion saw Violet was at luncheon. They exchanged their usual pleasantries and engaged in banal conversation. That night, Marion and Vi's mating routine was back to normal but felt somehow different. Neither of them mentioned the indiscretions of the birthday afternoon. After three weeks of more satisfying coupling, Marion was beginning to dare to hope they had finally succeeded in their joint purpose as man and wife. She should have told him to stay away by now. His calendar didn't lie. It was several more weeks before Marion let himself fully believe and a few weeks more before the doctor visited to confirm it. His Vi was going to have his baby.

Though he knew it was a ridiculous notion, Marion believed the conception must have occurred on his birthday. Her gift was even more remarkable than he'd first thought.

TBC…

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><p><strong>AN Next chapter...the gift of life.**

**Thanks to Chelsie Fan for posting on tumblr and to those of you who reblogged. **

**Cover Image props to slippingandslidingATtumblrDOTcom  
><strong>


	3. A Growing Gift

Once Violet was confirmed with child, there was no reason, _no excuse_, for Marion to visit her nightly. He missed the warmth of her, even for those few fleeting moments each night. He wondered if she missed him, or if she was just grateful that her duty had been fulfilled. Was she happy to be shut of him? The thought tormented him each night when he lay in his bed, fighting the urge to knock on her door.

It finally became unbearable to Marion to be just a door's breadth away from her every night, but remain uninvited. He decided to take a trip. He would visit a family friend in India and be back just in time for the birth of his son. For he knew it would be a son. His Vi was nothing if not dutiful. She would give him his heir and they could both breathe easier. Marion worried, would she ever want to be with him again after gifting him with a son? Life was uncertain. He would convince her that they needed at least two sons, maybe three or four. Anything to be invited back into her room, her bed, her embrace.

Violet wrote to him faithfully while he was away. Marion sent her little gifts from his travels. He wrote her letters that never spoke of the depth of his loneliness and his longing to see her. That would be unseemly.

Then came the letter that changed everything for him.

_'My Dear Husband,_

_Thank you for the necklace. I can see that the goldsmiths of Madras are as skilled as you've said._

_Doctor Lynch visited today. He confirmed something that I have long suspected. There are two tiny heartbeats beneath my own. I am carrying twins. I hope you will be pleased. I must profess my self overjoyed. _

_As a precaution, I have been confined to my bed until the birth, which I am told may be earlier than anticipated due to the nature of twins. I know it is selfish of me to ask, but it would be a great comfort to me if you would return early. I will understand if your business keeps you away, but know that your return is looked for by all at Downton, but most especially by your devoted wife,_

_Violet Crawley' _

Marion ordered Haney to pack their things and passage home had been arranged that very day. Vi needed him! She had _asked_ for him! She asked so little of him that Marion would never deny her anything.

Unfortunately, the Great Indian Peninsula Railway did not understand Marion's urgency. The next train to Bombay from Madras was not due to leave for several days. Even when the train did depart, there were impediments. The bridge over the Krishna was still being repaired from damages sustained in last year's floods so they were ferried across to a different engine and set of cars.

The rest of the trip felt like fate was trying to keep him from home. He cursed the weather and muttered about unreliable rails. The reality was that each leg of his journey ran as smoothly as could be expected. The wind was favorable and the trains ran as close to on time as they ever did. Only Marion's perception made the process seem delayed.

It was a late evening in late March when the world weary traveler set foot on the soil of Downton village. Marion had abandoned his luggage and Haney in Calais and hired a carriage in Dover.

"Mister Marion!"

"Good evening, Sumner. I trust I find you well?"

"Very well, sir."

"I am glad to hear it. And are my parents well?"

"Lady Grantham is very well and Lord Grantham has had a tolerable winter." The butler played along with the ruse. They both knew that he was most anxious about his wife, but he was required to ask after his parents first.

"How is Lady Violet?"

"She is confined, sir. I have not seen her since her confinement, but I understand she is healthy and in good spirits."

"Do you know if she is still awake?"

"I do not know, but I can find out."

"Thank you, but I shall go up myself. Please tell Carson that the carriage and horses must be returned to Dover at the first opportunity."

"Of course, sir. Shall I prepare a tray for you?"

"Yes, please. I'll come back down after I've seen Lady Violet."

He was halfway up the stairs when he saw Jennings, Violet's maid, running towards him down the hallway.

"She said she heard your voice! I told her she was imagining things, but she insisted."

"When will you learn, Jennings? Lady Violet is always correct." Marion rushed into his wife's bedroom not even bothering to knock. "Vi!"

She was propped up in bed but it looked like she was trying to get out of bed.

"Don't get up, my dear!" He rushed to the bed and grasped her hand. Marion looked at her and had never seen anything as beautiful in all his life. Her belly was enormous. Her complexion was glowing. Her eyes were bright and lively. Her hair was impeccably coiffed.

"You're home. I never expected you this soon."

"I should never have left. Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive." Violet patted his hand reassuringly.

He could not take his eyes off her stomach. He wanted to touch the roundness of her. He wanted to put his ear to her belly and hear the beating hearts of his children; his sons. "Twins, your letter said? Is it still twins?"

"Yes, _still_ twins." Her intelligent eyes twinkled at him like the stars over the prow of the ship that had finally carried him home to her. Nowhere in all his travels was there wit to be found to match her.

For the next week, Marion sat by her bedside and told her the tales of his journey. She teased him about his tan skin and laughed when he told her about the macaques that would steal the biscuits at tea time if one were not vigilant. He knew she would cry if he described the beggars on the streets so he avoided the topic and simply complained about the food.

Then came the morning when she calmly told him, "Marion, dear, send for the doctor. I believe today is the day."

From that, Violet was lost to him, or rather, Marion was exiled from her. She disappeared behind a wall of busy women while Marion and his father were quarantined in the smoking room. His father puffed on his cigar beside the fire and Marion paced up and down. He was powerless to affect the events upstairs. His role was over and done eight months ago, but he wanted to do something.

"If you don't sit down, I shall banish you to the stables, boy," Lord Grantham grumbled to his nervous son.

So chastised by his father, Marion sat beside the window and tried to read the morning paper. He understood none of it. None of the words made sense to him. None of it mattered. How could anything else matter when upstairs, his wife was bringing his children into the world?

TBC…

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><p><strong>AN Yes, I am using the conceit that Carson's grandfather was head groomsman at Downton. I can't have a story completely devoid of Carson!**

**I know what many of you are thinking, but no, I am not suggesting that Rosamund and Robert are twins. That is all I will say for now.**


	4. No Greater Gift

**!Trigger Warning! **

**This is not an entirely happy chapter. ****The babies are premature and only one baby survives. If you are super sensitive to such things, you should not read this. I don't think it is gratuitously graphic, but it is still hard to take. If you skip to the break, it isn't as bad.  
><strong>

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><p>The wizened old nurse knocked as she entered the room just after tea. "Mr. Crawley, you may come up."<p>

"Is one a boy? If they are both boys, you must make sure you note which was born first," Lord Grantham gruffed. "The firstborn is to be named Robert."

"That won't be a problem, m'lord," the woman replied. "There is a boy and a girl. The boy was born first."

"How is my wife?" Marion asked, ignoring his father's gloating happiness. The celebration could wait.

"She's doing very well, the nurses are almost finished. Please, sir, come with me." Something in her demeanor sent alarm bells ringing in his head. He followed her quickly out of the room.

As they climbed the main stairs the old woman spoke to him. "I am sorry to be the bearer of ill tidings, sir, but the boy is not faring well."

"What do you mean?"

"The birth was very early; the boy's lungs aren't fully developed. He is having trouble breathing. The doctor is not optimistic. He asked me to prepare you for the worst."

"Is the girl having the same trouble?" Marion bristled that the nurse didn't think he would be as concerned about his daughter's health.

"No, sir. Your daughter is doing very well. In my experience with premature births, the girls are more resilient than the boys. I couldn't begin to guess why." She ushered him past Violet's bedroom door to his own door. "Your daughter is with the wet nurse. We've set your son up in here, by the window. Some doctors think the sunlight helps."

Dr. Lynch was leaning over a clinical looking table covered in a white sheet as Marion pushed into the room. On the table was a naked baby boy no bigger than a cigar box. _My son,_ Marion's heart clenched as the doctor massaged the infant's bare chest. He looked up at the approaching father.

"I'd hoped that keeping Lady Violet confined to her bed would avoid such an early delivery, but, alas, it was not to be."

"How is he?"

"His heart sounds strong, but his color is bad. He isn't getting enough oxygen. We suspect that the final steps of lung development do not occur until the last weeks of gestation."

"But he's alive; he's breathing," Marion insisted. "He's made it this far; he has to live."

"There is always a chance, but the prognosis is grim," Dr. Lynch frowned sympathetically. "Children this small rarely live more than an hour, but where there is life, there is hope. All we can do now is wait."

"Has Vi- Lady Violet seen him?" Marion fought back his emotions as the doctor continued to rub the child's extremities.

"That wasn't deemed wise, sir. It will only upset her."

"Will it hurt his chances for survival if we move him back into her room?"

"No."

"Then we shall do it." Marion knew that Violet would want to be beside their son as he battled for his life. Part of Marion believed that Violet might be able to will the child to live. She had strength enough, he had no doubt. "Just let me speak to her before you bring him in."

The bed chamber was still dark when Marion entered. A few candles sputtered, casting a grim and feeble light. He remained fixed in his little doorway as he watched the scene. A small team of nurses and housemaids were buzzing around the bed. A nurse was hurrying away with a basin covered with a towel. The housemaids fled the room carrying a bundle of sheets. Apparently, they'd changed the sheets without removing Violet from the bed. Marion was impressed, but then remembered that they'd had weeks of practice during Violet's confinement.

Jennings was at the head of the bed, apparently fussing with Violet's hair. It was so like Vi to insist on maintaining her appearance, even now. It wasn't about vanity, Marion knew. It was about Violet playing her role to the hilt. If there was a chance even the lowest scullery maid might see her, Violet must be presentable as the Lady she was.

As Jennings left her mistress, Marion noticed she was carrying a nightgown that was balled up, but he still saw the blood. Marion didn't know exactly what a woman endured to bring children into the world, nor did he want to. In his circle of friends, only a few men were fathers. They spoke of birth as a common place miracle. Marion saw that the truth was visceral and filthy, not unlike the act of creating the child. But there was no shame in the ancient process. Maybe there was less shame in the begetting than he'd been told.

Marion shook these impractical thoughts from his mind. He stopped one maid and requested that the curtains be opened. The room needed natural light. Sunlight flooded the room and the women scattered before it like some of the bugs Marion had witnessed in India. Soon, they were all gone and Marion was left alone with his Violet. He took a tentative step forward.

With her eyes still adjusting to the light, the movement caught Violet's eye and she turned towards him. Her smile was weary but proud. Violet looked regal and elegant, as though she were sitting on a throne rather than confined to a bed after giving birth to twins.

"I hope you haven't been too worried," she said magnanimously. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting all day. It took rather longer than I'd anticipated."

"These things take as long as they take, my dear. I could hardly blame you," he said kindly. "Besides, I got to spend the entire day with my father in the smoking room."

"You poor dear. And I thought I had a difficult day," she laughed.

He walked around and sat beside her on the bed. If she found his behavior odd, she did not show it.

He took her hand. "Are you comfortable?"

"They've taken very good care of me. Have you seen the children yet?"

"I've seen our son."

"Now, Marion, our daughter may not be as valuable to your family as a son, but I won't have you neglecting her. Times are changing." Her voice was stern, but had a hint of humor.

"We'll give her everything that it is in our power to give, Vi, I swear it. The reason I saw the boy…"

"Robert, his name is to be Robert," Violet reminded him.

"Perhaps not."

"What do you mean? Your father was so adamant that the heir be named after him."

"Yes, but you see…Violet, my dearest, the thing is…" Tears filled his eyes and he turned hastily away.

"Marion, you are frightening me. Tell me what is wrong?"

He wiped away his lone tear before he forced himself to face her. "He is too small. The doctor says our daughter is healthy, but he doesn't think our son will see out the hour. I'm so sorry, Vi."

"But he is alive now?"

"Yes."

"I want to see him," she demanded.

_I expected no less._ "I shall have the doctor bring him in."

Her aggressive posture relaxed a little when she realized he had no intention of resisting her.

Marion summoned the doctor who, with the aid of a nurse, pushed the little sterile table into the room and set it by the window. It was only now that Marion realized that it was a crib without the fences attached. The child was still naked, save for a small cloth which afforded him some modesty. _Not that he was old enough to feel shame,_ Marion thought. _It would be a miracle if he ever grew to be old enough to know fear and humiliation. _That was an odd comfort of sorts. Marion wished he could remember a time before he'd known such a thing as shame existed.

"What are his chances, doctor?" Violet demanded to know. Her voice was calm, almost impersonal. She was so good at playing her role, Marion recognized proudly.

"Very poor, milady. I will be shocked if he survives the hour."

"Is there nothing that can be done?"

"All we can do is see that he is comfortable. It is in God's hands now, milady."

"I thought you doctors claimed to be God," came the bitter barb.

"I only wish we were," Dr. Lynch dropped his head under her glare.

"How do we make him comfortable?"

"Keep him warm, in the sun if possible, and talk to him."

"Very well, you may leave us." She dismissed the doctor as though he were a hall boy. "We'll call you when God has had his say."

"Very good, milady." The doctor and nurse left the room swiftly.

The room was silent for a few moments before Marion realized that Violet was trying to rise from her bed. He knew better than to try and stop her so he rushed to her side to help. With some effort, he was able to settle her on the chaise lounge beside the window where the light was strongest. When she was seated with a blanket over her legs, Marion moved to the child, gathered the babe loosely in the blankets he lay on and delivered him to his mother. The father caressed his son's innocent cheek before seeking out his wife's gown and draping it over her shoulders. When done, he pulled a chair up beside them.

Violet blinked down at her son in wonder.

"He's so small."

Marion nodded.

"Too small, they say," she spoke to the babe. "What do you say to that, little one? What do you say we prove them wrong?"

For the next half hour Violet talked to her first born son. She didn't speak to the boy as though her were a baby, but as if her were a grown boy. She told him stories about his family. She described her first Season and the wonders of London. She even promised him a pony on his ninth birthday. "Your father will say you should wait until you are ten, but I shall persuade him," she said and raised an eyebrow at her husband in challenge.

"I didn't have a pony until I was ten," Marion insisted, playing along with her willful delusion. _Willful, indeed._ Marion thought his heart would burst. He had never loved anything as much as he loved his family in these golden minutes. He wanted to cry. He wanted to gather his wife and son into his arms and tell them how brave they both were; how proud he was. Instead, he sat opposite the pair and watched in almost silent wonder. Vi's eyes were dry. Marion's were moist, but no more tears escaped. He thought of her strength to find the will to quell his tears. There would be time for their separate, private mourning later.

Finally, Violet stopped speaking and held out her hand to her husband. Marion took it and understood. Their son was dead. Unnamed and unchristened, he would lay beneath a stone in the children's cemetery that simply read, _'Baby Boy Crawley, April 6, 1862'._

-00-

They sat in silence for some time. Eventually, Marion rang for the doctor before taking his son from his wife. A nurse returned Vi to her bed, bringing fresh sheets and a basin again. While the army of maids was seeing to his wife and the doctor was seeing to his son, Marion sought out the old midwife to ask after his daughter. He found her in the hallway outside Violet's rooms.

"She's a hungry thing, according to Nurse. That's a good sign. Sometimes the little ones won't nurse right off."

Marion blushed at this graphic description. "Her mother and I would like to see her, when it can be arranged."

"Bless me, of course you would," the old woman clapped her hands and scurried away down the hallway.

"Is it true?" Marion's blood chilled as he heard his father approach.

"Yes, father, it's true. The boy did not survive." Marion stared evenly at his father, as though challenging him to say something callous. "But I have a lovely baby girl and there will be sons, eventually."

This seemed to appease the old Earl. He nodded and turned contemplative. Lord Grantham mumbled something.

"What was that, father?"

"Job 1:21." He shoved a box of cigars at his son, turned and left without another word. Marion returned to his room to find Haney arranging his shoes. Marion was sure the valet had been busying himself about the room since the birth, waiting to provide whatever support his master needed. Right now, Marion needed solitude.

"I'll not be changing for dinner tonight. Tell cook I'll take a tray with Lady Violet and then take the rest of the night off."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Quite sure. Don't tell me a strapping young man like you cannot find something to do with an extra half day?"

"No, sir, that shouldn't be a problem," the valet answered. "In fact, there is a bit of a to do at the stables tonight." The valet regretted mentioning it at once and hoped desperately that his master would not delve further.

"What's the occasion, Haney?"

"Nothing to bother yourself about, sir."

"Nonsense, Haney, just tell me, man. Why all the mystery?"

"Carson's just had news from Harrogate. His daughter-in-law has recently given birth to a son. He's a proud grandfather and he's brought in a barrel of ale for the lads to celebrate."

Marion picked up the box of cigars that his father had just given him.

"Give him these, with my congratulations."

"Very good, sir," the valet bowed gratefully. "And, sir?"

"Yes, Haney?"

"You have my deepest condolences."

"Thank you, but I should much prefer your congratulations. Today, I am a father."

"Congratulations, sir."

"Thank you."

After the valet left, Marion sat in his room and waited for the midwife to call him in to spend an hour with his wife and daughter. Remembering his father's strange behavior, Marion reached for his bible. It wasn't like Lord Grantham to quote scripture. Marion found Job easily and read the twenty first verse.

_'Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.'  
><em>

-00-

Time passed; hours, days, weeks. To the outside world, Violet Crawley was unchanged, but her husband knew better. She was still quick with a retort and would brook no foolishness, but there was something vulnerable in her. Marion wanted to protect her, but was afraid to get too close.

Little Rosamund was brought to visit her mother every day for one hour after tea. The girl was not terribly interesting yet, but it was expected, so it was done. When estate business would allow, Marion made sure he was there too. He held Rosamund more than Vi did, but he could see that Vi was trying. For his part, he knew that their little girl would be just like her mother; beautiful and intelligent. And she would have her father wrapped around her little finger.

Every day at breakfast, Lord Grantham preached to his son about the importance of producing an heir. As if he needed any reminding; it was his main job at the moment since he wasn't wanted much in the running of the estate. _'Best be getting to begetting'_, Prince Alfred had joked on Marion's wedding day.

"You don't want to give Downton over to James' whelp, do you?"

"No, father."

Marion had not been invited to visit his wife's bed since the births. Though he missed visiting her, he was not about to rush Vi in any way. Not after what she'd been through. So he waited patiently and the weeks passed. He contented himself with the intimacy of their hour together with their daughter.

"Happy Birthday, Mister Marion," Sumner greeted Marion at breakfast one morning. The day had snuck up on him again.

"Thank you, Sumner," Marion answered, trying to sound grateful, but just feeling weary. This past year had been more eventful than most. It had aged him and today would just remind him of that fact.

"This is for you." The butler held a silver tray with a note. Marion recognized the stationary from his months of correspondence while he was away. He forced himself to open it with a nonplussed expression and feigned a disinterested smile as he read.

"How very nice of Lady Violet to remember," he said to no one in particular. _ Maybe birthdays aren't so bad,_ he thought. He placed the note in his coat pocket and continued calmly with his breakfast though his heart was racing. The note had been direct and to the point.

_'Make a wish,  
>Love, V'<em>

-END OF PART ONE-

* * *

><p><strong>AN That's my (and Marion's) story and I'm sticking to it. If you have a moment, drop me a line and tell me what you think.  
><strong>

**From what I've read of chelsiefan's contribution, we are all in for a big treat when we hear from Violet's POV. Keep an eye out for her posting full of bittersweet, Victorian angst very soon!**


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